Running Rivers
by PalePrincess
Summary: Jaime Lannister needed to get away. One night, when he leaves the Red Keep after discovering the Queen's true nature, Jaime drunkenly encounters an interesting bastard barmaid with many secrets of her own. Helaine Rivers is an enigma, and her effervescence proves too intoxicating to ignore. But can he protect her from his twisted world and her dark past? Jaime/OC Jaime/Cersei
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own Game of Thrones or any works created by the genius that is George R.R. Martin. **

**Ok so this is my first attempt at a Jamie/OC fic. Hopefully you all enjoy my work and please, feel free to critique me or give some input on where you would like this story to go. However, "critique," is not synonymous to "flame"! So please be kind and ****PLEASE REVIEW****. I won't be encouraged to continue if I don't think anyone is reading.**

**Enjoy **

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**Chapter 1: Drinks All Around**

"Nothing like a Dornish red on a warm summer night." Ser Jaime Lannister did not address any one man in particular, but the White Cloaks gathered round him cheered in agreement.

To the left of him, a drunken oaf of a knight matched his words with some of his own, "Sorry to disagree with you Ser Jaime, but I'd rather have a pretty lass warmin' my bed on a night like this. Screw the wine." He barely got out his last sentence before he fell onto the ground, pulling a startled young whore with him as he went.

Jaime could not help but bare a pearly grin at his drunken comrade, and laugh as the girl brushed the dirt off herself, stomping away thoroughly annoyed. To further embarrass him, the handsome knight said, "Seems as though the wine is all that will be accompanying you to your room tonight Ser Dontos."

As Ser Dontos stumbled away, and the men's laugh's again echoed around him, Jaime could not help but silently agree with the words the drunkard proclaimed. Jaime's gaze wandered to the makeshift head table that some servants crafted for this outdoor event.

Tonight, the courtyard in the red keep hosted a grand feast; Prince Joffrey's name day celebration. Banners and tapestries were brightly lit by lanterns and candles of all sizes. Variants of red and gold embellishments decorated the cobblestone structures and cloths atop tables. Musicians, dancers, actors and performers worked together to create an entertaining atmosphere appropriate for a member of the royal family.

But nothing seemed to hold Jaime's attention more than the head table…

His attention however was interrupted by his younger brother, who never failed to find him deep in thought, "You can always count on Ser Dontos to be the most piss drunk at a royal celebration."

With great care, Jaime looked down at his brother as to not bring attention to what held his momentary gaze, "Yes," Jaime answered, "but he always comes second to you."

The cocky dwarf chuckled at his younger brother's words, but he nodded and could only say, "Ah, you know me too well."

"I am your brother after all."

"Speaking of siblings," Tyrion lifted his glass of Dornish red to his lips in a brief pause, but then continued, "our dear sister does not look as though she is enjoying herself."

Jamie's eyes returned to the head table he was so fascinated by, and he looked again at the object of his secret desire. She was radiant, her cascading, golden, Lannister locks were braided in a Southern fashion atop her head; earlier he noticed her flowing scarlet dress as she stood before the guests, the cut of it barely revealed the tops of her breasts and it accentuated her graceful neck. When she smiled, a practiced raise of her lips for audiences, she was still gorgeous. Lately however, he noticed that genuine happiness barely radiated from his sister, and that her eyes no longer subtly sparkled for him like they did when they first began their torrid love affair. The warmth she once had in her heart was turning cold.

She was his secret love; his beautiful ice queen.

At the moment, Cersei was downing back her own ornate goblet, as Robert feasted barbarically on his roasted pork.

"I mean," Tyrion continued, "she is seated in the best company…"

Without betraying the disdain he held for the King through his face, Jamie gulped down the rest of his wine and said to his brother, "Perhaps she needs a change of scenery." Jaime would never notice the disappointed look Tyrion held in his eyes and his brother walked away.

The party was close to reaching its crescendo; the very best of performers and whores romped and reveled (perhaps a bit much in front of the eyes of children), but gaily enough to affect everyone with tremendous joy and good feelings. All except one, and he would soon save her from this hell.

'Always and forever my gallant protector." She said those words to him when they were mere children, but they always made him feel whole. He would die for his sister if she asked.

But before her could reach her, Jaime was stopped by a voice that called his name, "Jaime, come introduce yourself to Prince Doran" Jaime knew that this was no request

Lord Tywin Lannister rarely came to Kings Landing since his despicable son-in-law began to call himself king. But Tywin never missed a chance to cement connections. Prince Doran decided to attend tonight's celebration only because Robert became increasingly insulted that the Martells have separated themselves so much from the rest of the Kingdom.

"Father, I do not believe that Doran Martell will be that pleased to see me…"

Jaime was not an easy man to rattle, but when his father would clench his jaw, and look at him with cold, steel eyes, Jaime could not deny that after all these years, Tywin sill unnerved him.

Sternly, Tywin replied, "Though it is well know that there is no love lost between the Martell's and the Lannister's, Doran is old and sick. His daughter Arianne will soon rule Dorne. If there is a way we can establish influence within their land through trade if nothing else, now is an opportune time to do it. Introducing the Martell's to the Lannister's is a sign of good faith."

Jaime felt his father's strong hand on his shoulder, and slowly, Jaime's direction was turned from his sister, to the cobblestone path that led to the Martell's. But before they reached their destination, Jaime found himself thinking aloud, "you said if nothing else; how else would you want to establish an alliance with the Martell's?"

Without sparing a glance at his son, Tywin said, "As a member of the Kingsguard, you vowed to never marry or bear children as long as you served the King. However, you are my son, and at some point in life, you must continue my line. Arianne Martell would make a fine wife, and a natural alliance would be built by your marriage."

He did not know how respond; if only Tywin knew that Jaime had already done his part to continue the Lannister line. However, Jaime had no time to oherently verbalize his objection, and soon found himself face-to-face with the tan and serious faces of the Martell's.

* * *

After what seemed like a decade's worth of forced conversation, Jaime felt more inebriated by his Dornish red (the like of which Doran could not help but brag incessantly about). The wine however, seemed to loosed him a bit, and though he never imaged it possible, he managed to charm Princess Arianne Martell. He danced with her twice to the pleasure of Tywin, and Jaime was well aware that by complementing her, and flashing handsome grins, her disdain for him and his family would fade. Since birth, she was taught to hate him since Gregor Clegane raped and murdered her aunt, but Jaime new himself that as the most handsome man in the Seven Kingdoms, that no woman could resist him for long.

Thankfully though, Tywin released him from the exchange, and Jaime's mission to save his sister was again his first priority. Though he was not sure how long he had spent buttering up the Martell's, it was enough time to lose Cersei. He heard Robert blathering on about one of his wartime tales, but he could not see his sister anywhere. 'Now where did she run off too…" he thought to himself.

Luckily, a servant informed him that she had returned to her chambers, and before he left, he harmlessly flirted with the girl just so he could sneak away unnoticed.

Along his way into the Keep and through the halls, he crossed many a knight and whore engaging in lustful interactions, but they were too drunk to care where the famous knight was going. Jaime walked a less traveled way to Maegor's Holdfast, in the direction of the Queen's rooms, to avoid the eyes he could not see.

Once he reached the door that separated him from his beloved, he ran a hand though his hair, and then adjusted his uniform. He had to chuckle at himself. His father and his sister could reduce him to boyhood.

He raised his hand to knock on the door, but was surprised to hear a feint laugh from the other side. 'Too much wine.' It saddened Jaime to realize that he could only believe his sister to be happy these days if she was drunk. Once again he raised his hand to knock, but this time it was not the delicate laugh of his sister that stopped him, but the sound of a clear, masculine laugh that emerged from the very same room. Surprise quickly turned into rage.

"Cersei," Jaime called out louder than expected. The laughter died as soon as he bellowed. Muffled shuffling sounds could be heard from Jaime's position, but no one emerged. At this point he was boiling, "Cersei," he called yet again, restraining himself, "are you alright?"

This time, he did knock, but it was interrupted when his blonde beauty opened the door. "What are you doing here?" There was a hint of cautiousness in her voice, yet he could feel her maliciousness.

"I was looking for you and one of your handmaidens said you had returned here for the night. What she did not tell me however was that you brought company…"

With little resistance, Jaime pushed the door open to reveal none other than the youngest of the Kettleblack brothers, Osney.

"Kettleblack?" Jaime wasn't sure what to do; he was both furious and confused. Kettleblack had no titles, and only made a reputation as a good fighter, but surely that is not enough to impress her. "I must say that I'm surprised to see you in the Queen's bedchamber."

Osney was a tall man, with dark hair that fell upon his broad shoulders, but he had a rather crooked nose. 'Why him?' Jaime pondered.

"I was escorting her Grace to her bedchamber; you saw for yourself Ser Jaime, there are many dangerous drunkards throughout the castle tonight." His confidence boiled Jaime's blood. To avoid onlookers, Jaime closed the door behind him. He then slowly circled the room, bending and craning his neck, as if looking for something. "Well Kettleblack, seems as though there is no danger in the Queen's bedchamber. This revelation leads me to ask, why are you still here?"

Both men stared at each other, and Cersei finally spoke up, "Please leave us Lord Kettleblack, thank you for your protection."

'Always and forever my gallant protector.' Surely she could not see this nameless nobody as her protector…

Kettleblack bowed to the Queen, but before he could unlock the door, Jaime slammed his hand on the wooden surface in front of Osney's face. The tension was mounting, and in a low voice, Jaime began, "If I ever see or hear that you have come into these rooms, attended or not, I will tell the King that you took advantage of my dear sister and raped her whist she was drunk off of wine. Is that understood?" Neither men would break their hateful stare, but Kettleblack was the first to crack. With brute strength, he pulled the door open and stormed out without a reply.

Cersei could not balance herself well, and Jaime watched as she plopped down with little grace on her feathered bed. After many moments passed, Cersei's familiar disdainful voice sounded; "I know what you're thinking-why Osney Kettleblack?" Jaime made no sound as he watched her, so she continued, "my only reply is, why Arianne Martell?"

Jaime's rage only increased as his sister accused him or harboring feeling for the Dornish princess, "Do not try to lay the blame on me sister. You do not see Princess Arianne in my bedchamber. Do you know how much you just risked exposing? For what purpose? Your own stupid jealously?"

"She is no princess," she spat, "she is but a tanned, young, whore. And don't think I didn't notice you staring at her."

"I do not want the Martell babe," Jaime said as he approached her. Her eyes did not sparkle, but there was an almost evil fire that radiated from them, "You did not seem so opposed to the idea when Father talked to you. I am no fool, I've known Father's intentions for some time; as soon as he accepted the invitation." Cersei tried with dignity to raise herself by pulling on the bedposts.

"What would you expect me to do," Jaime's voice became strained from frustration, "Say no? Your stunt with Kettleblack could have ruined everything. I save our necks repeatedly. What if someone saw you?"

Cersei laughed vindictively at Jaime's concerns, "You just can't help but fear everyone—Father, Robert; you fear your own ass. You're nothing but a coward!" Her yelling pushed Jaime to his limits, and he stomped over to her, grabbed her arms, and pulled her close.

"Never say that again. Ever." The tone of his voice became deathly low. But Cersei's dark eyes were not phased.

'She's a shell of what she was…' Jaime thought as her cold, dead eyes looked at him. 'Pit less, black holes.'

"Did you lay with him?" he asked as calmly as possible.

"Of course not—"

"Because I arrived before it could happen!" Cersei tugged her arms out of his grip and walked past him, too guilty to look into his eyes, "This is the second time…how many more times must I endure this…"

Jaime stared holes into her back as he remembered the last time this happened. About three months prior, Jaime saw Cersei flirting with their young cousin Lancel in the hallway near her chamber. He stopped her advances before anything could happen, but that argument turned so vicious that he nearly beat a bratty squire to death to calm himself.

Cersei turned to look at him, their eyes locked, but there was no love, no sparkle that he longed to see.

"You're nothing but a disappointment." Her words cut him like ice, and she smirked like a demon, "You may be handsome, and strong, but you could never be my champion. You're spineless, and only care about your damned reputation." Cersei found enough confidence with the influence of her wine, and slowly approached him like a lion ready to pounce. "I hope the Martell girl is pleased with you, but I do not think that possible. You lack the ability to please anyone…in many ways."

Jaime never felt this awful before. So many hateful thoughts traveled through his mind. She never went this far in their arguments. After all he had done to protect her, to make her feel beautiful, this is how she truly felt. He was being used.

"You demean my honor, my rank, and my very manhood-"There was no care in his voice, if she did not value him, then he would reciprocate the same treatment, "Remember this night sister. For tonight is the end of us."

Her cries and screams fazed him, but not once did he turn around as he left the bedchamber, and eventually, the Keep itself

Before Jaime knew it, he was alone, in the heart of Kingslanding, with only a bottle of wine to keep him company.

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**Okay so I'll stop that here. Just a reminder, this is ****NOT**** a Cersei/Jaime fic. This is a Jaime/OC fic. However since I've reached near 2700 words, I thought that I would introduce her in the next chapter. I've never done this before; usually I expose the OC early on. However, I think that this background is important. I like portraying Jaime as both a cocky ass, but sensitive, and we can only truly see that in interactions with Cersei. **

**In the next chapter, we will be introduced to Helaine Rivers; PLEASE STICK AROUND. You'll love her I promise :D**

**If nothing else, REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW. **

**Thanks **


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own Game of Thrones or any works created by the genius that is George R.R. Martin. **

**A/N: I want to thank all the users that reviewed the first chapter and have added "Running Rivers" to their alerts lists! It means a lot to me to hear feedback from my readers, and to know that my work is appreciated. I hope I continue to entertain you! **

**P.S: I do not have the most consistent updates. Since I go to school and work, it's a little difficult to update on a planned schedule. But since this story is now my baby, and all of you are so encouraging, I will do my best to update frequently! **

**Keep reading and reviewing****! You're all awesome!**

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**Chapter Two: The Knight**

Jaime Lannister was not entirely sure how he ended up in the state he currently found himself in. Covered in dirt, flat on his back in a filthy alleyway somewhere in King's Landing, Jaime lay an emotionally defeated man. How long he had been there, he could not say. His sense of time was as blurred as his vision. The once full glass jug of Red, was now near empty, with only a sips-worth remaining inside. Alone in the unlit blackness, Jaime found comfort in his own drunken stupor.

"Oh how she would laugh at me if she were to see me like this…" Jaime whispered to the night. Thoughts of Cersei could not escape him. 'I am better than her, better than this.' In an effort to retain some semblance of dignity, Jaime raised himself into a sitting position, his back only supported by the brick structure behind him.

Without realizing, Jaime consumed his last bit of wine, and the last drop prompted a bold exclamation from the fallen knight;"I'm Jaime Lannister!" his voice boomed confidently, "The best swordsman of the Seven Kingdoms; feared and dubbed the dreaded King Slayer! Born with the natural ability to bed any woman I choose, and then be admired by the men they were stolen from!" He raised his jug, but no one was around to witness his monologue.

"And yet," he continued in his normal tone, "I have nothing, nothing but my sword and my wine." When Jaime took his next swig, he was surprised at the absence of alcohol. In vain, he tried to shake the jug and catch remnants of the liquor on his tongue, but to no avail.

"Even you my friend…" his drunkenness was suddenly overcome by an onslaught of emotions that attacked his senses. His beloved sister and lover, to whom he devoted his very soul, used him. His dear father, proud and strong, only longed to elevate his line to greatness and ensure a respected legacy. The lack of normalcy in his life led him to the depths of the hell hole he was sworn to defend. All this, spurned him, and soon self-loathing turned into consuming hate. Hate for his family, his position, hate for all.

Jaime barely heard the sound of the glass shattering, but soon noticed the remnants of his jug in pieces before him. The drunken haze was overcoming him, and all he could do was look to the night sky above, and shut his eyes to the world.

When suddenly, a commotion off in the distance reawakened his keen senses and slightly sobered him.

"Damn the little cunt is fast!" Jaime knew that he was not in the absence of danger as the scuffling to his left grew louder.

"We just want to talk!" this voice was different than the other. Jaime was certain enough in his skills to know that he could defend himself against two or more men, but he understood that in this state, the odds were not in his favor.

The heavy breathing grew closer. Jaime gripped the handle of his sword tighter, and once a form darted around the corner headed right towards him, Jaime's hold on his weapon weakened.

It wasn't the brute men he had imagined, but a woman. Even cloaked in darkness, Jaime was able to make out her frame. The moonlight reflected off her flowing auburn hair. Her dress swept across her ankles, but the material clung lasciviously tight. Her large breasts bounced wildly as she ran towards him, and he could discern the outline of her feminine curves.

'Probably a whore,' Jaime immediately assumed. Luckily the dirt Jaime acquired from his drunken misadventures helped him blend into the filth surrounding him.

She tripped over some discarded rubbish, and cried out. But she quickly regained composure, and continued towards him. Jaime was never sympathetic to whores. They did what they needed to survive. Situations like these were a common occurrence for loose women; they knew the consequences of their actions.

Jaime regarded her resilience and speed, 'She'll live for the coin another day.' Yet when she passed right before him, and he saw her eyes wide with fear, Jaime had trouble shaking the pity he suddenly held for her. But he only looked down as she passed, and then looked back up as she fled away.

As previously expected, two men whipped around the corner to his alleyway, and headed straight for the quick girl. However, Jaime did not anticipate them to enter from the opposite side, directly in front her.

The woman halted, unsure of what to do. One of the brutes laughed at her, "Finally! You're such a fast bitch!" Jaime watched her try to turn and run, but the other man, shorter and more round, grabbed her roughly by her hair, eliciting a startled scream. "But you aren't a smart girl, are ye'?

Slowly, a heat began to rise in Jaime.

"You know what we want girl," Jaime pitied the girl as he watched her face grimace at the man's proximity to her face, "We offered you a nice room at the Inn, but since you've been a naughty bitch, this will have to do. Hand 'er here, Ulric." The short man, Ulric, thrust the frightened maiden into the awaiting arms of his friend.

She struggled; kicked them and flailed her arms in every possible direction. As the leader of the duo forced her up against the wall and pushed up her skirts, Ulric tore at the fabric that hid her breasts. They tried to cover her mouth, but she kept biting them and cried for help whenever she got a chance.

"This 'ill shut 'er up," she was slapped so hard across the face that her knees buckled. If not for the rapists holding her, she would have crumbled to the ground.

Jaime knew he could not leave the alleyway at this point. If she saw him, she would direct her anguished screams towards him and risk his safety. But as he watched the unfortunate scene unfold before him, Jaime battled an internal confliction that raged inside him. Any man that feels the need to rape is no man at all.

First and foremost, Jaime is a Lannister and a Lannister would never intervene in common affairs such as this. But Jaime was more than a Lannister—he was a knight.

The men began to shower her with filthy kisses, and grope at her most private places. She tried to push back, but the taller man slammed her head against the wall. She released her final scream in pain. Her head lolled, and she was surely near unconsciousness. Then, ever softly, just about at her end, the girl whispered, "Please…,"

Jaime's inner confliction was resolved.

"Alright," he spoke aloud in the darkness, "two against one is never a fair fight."

Jaime succeeded in interrupting the act, and both men looked towards his direction, but could not see him. "Who's there?!" one yelled aggressively.

"However," Jaime continued unfazed, "the Seven have seen me through disadvantages more times than not" Mustering all the strength he had, Jaime stood without faltering, as if the gods raised him themselves.

While Ulric held onto the woman, his large friend took a step towards Jaime, "Who the hell are you?"

"Does it really matter?" The girl's eyes were wide, her hopeful expression spurred Jaime to continue, "I have a white cloak, meaning that I swore an oath and am bound to keep the peace."

Laughter filled the alley, "What's a white cloak doin' alone in an alleyway?" The man eyed Jaime up and down, and smiled a rotten grin, "Looking like my mutt's shit."

Both of the rapists were unattractive peasants. They maybe had twelve teeth between them. Their shirts were stained and though the men weren't that close to Jaime, they reeked of alcohol and latrines.

"Then I believe that a bit of thanks are in order. That's a compliment considering you and your friend look like whatever birthed you fucked wild boars." Jaime's cocky, staple Lannister grin pushed the squalid vagabond to brandish his blade. Jaime drew his just as fast.

The shoddy craftsmanship of a peasant's sword did not compare to the Valyrian steel Jaime grasped.

"You think that rusty blade is going to best me in the slightest? You'd have better luck swinging a toothpick than using that embarrassment."

Jaime's prodding was met with a swing of his opponent's sword. The clang of metal upon metal echoed audibly. Jaime was prepared for the blow, and each strike was skillfully parried. The man was strong, but to Jaime's advantage, he was slow.

The drunkenness never fully left Jaime, however. At some point in their engagement, the smaller lackey left the girl and caught Jaime off guard by ramming his foot into the knight's back. Perhaps if he had not drank as much, Jaime would have heard Ulric's feet as it trudged through the garbage that covered the alley, and then block his impending attack. But Jaime stumbled to his knees at the impact, and for good measure, Ulric kicked Jaime's head, and he fell onto his side.

Slightly dizzy, Jaime noticed that the whore had fled.

'Ungrateful bitch. Last time I do something out of kindness. Another woman to use me.'.

Jaime felt slightly betrayed, but now faced the possibility that he might die drunk and dirty; Jaime refocused on the task at hand.

'At least she got away…' Jaime rolled away from between both men, and their heads collided rather humorously. Jaime didn't try to contain his amusement.

"Good thing the girl got away." The two men were finally aware of her disappearance. " Pretty thing, but to be molested by you clumsy oxen would be a pity. Probably don't know where to stick your pricks in do you?" Despite his discontent, Jaime was still comforted by his abilities; even drunk, he still saved a distressed damsel.

Both men charged for Jaime, and quickly regaining his composure, Jaime jumped to his feet and first landed his boot into the stomach of Ulric whom just happened to reach him first. As the man fell in agony, Jaime's primary adversary lunged his sword at Jaime's head. He barely escaped the blade's path, and the air that kissed Jaime's face from the force propelled him to then take a stronger, more aggressive strategy.

Powerful strikes put Jaime at the advantage, and quickly he was tiring his enemy. The victory Jaime never doubted grew near; the Lannister ego surged through him. So consumed by his fighting spirit, Jaime paid little attention to much else besides the battle he faced. His lack of constant vigilance resulted in the kiss of cold seal at his throat. The fallen accomplice had risen, and Jaime had no choice but to momentarily surrender.

"Drop your sword." Jaime begrudgingly listened to the demand. His opponent picked up Jaime's weapon, and brandished both in his possession. "You were right Ser," the man started to weigh Jaime's blade in his hands, "you do have the better sword."

Jaime faced worse situations in his past, and quickly his mind began to plot his way out of this. His captors exchanged ideas of how to dispose of him, but something out of the corner of the knight's eye caught his attention.

The peasant apparently decided to discard his shoddy sword, and Jaime suddenly refocused his attention to the man who pressed his sword against his belly.

"How embarrassing would it be for a knight to be killed by his own blade." More of a statement than a question, Ulric supported his friend adamantly, "Real embarrassing, Mervyn."

Luckily, Ulric was too enthralled by his friend's newly commanding presence that he failed to notice the approaching figure shrouded in darkness in front of him. Jaime smiled when he recognized an auburn glimmer at the top of the figure's form.

Looking into the dark eyes of the oblivious, cocky man, Jaime replied, "Not as embarrassing as getting beaten by a girl."

There was no opportunity to question Jaime's words. In a flash, a clay pot was smashed right into the back of Mervyn's head. He collapsed like bricks, and Jaime took that chance to get his first good look at the woman he might have sacrificed his life for.

"Welcome back." He said sarcastically. The girl grinned mischievously, and Jaime took advantage of the surprise. Quickly, he reeled his head back into the grease ball behind him. The impact caused Ulric to drop his dagger, and hold his nose to stop the blood gushing from his nostrils. Jaime blocked the little man from escaping, and the woman handed his sword back to him.

"Now," he pointed his sword at Ulric, "what to do with you?" The sad peasant fell to his knees in fear, and cried like a newborn. "Please! Please have mercy!"

This man's plea had no effect on him like the whore's had. "You attempted to kill a member of the Kingsquard as well as attempted to commit the crime of rape. Both are punishable by death."

Still the man cried, and incoherent blubbering filled the alleyway.

Growing tired of the display, Jaime voiced his apathy, "Let's bring an end to this shall we?" He lunged for the man's chest, but was halted by a delicate hand upon his arm.

"Don't." Jaime looked at the red-haired beauty, confused. She tried to settle his questioning appearance, "Look at him," Jaime did, and then looked back, "I'm pretty sure I killed his friend. Just let him go. He's lost everything."

He thought the girl's attack only caused Mervyn to lose consciousness. But Jaime noticed the blood that seeped onto the gravel, and the man's pallid coloring. She was probably correct in her assumptions, and this bothered him. 'She wasn't supposed to save me. Damn.'

With a sigh, Jaime took a step back. The short man stopped sniffling, and he bowed his head in gratitude and relief. He released many words of thanks from his lips, but before he could get away, Jaime grabbed his frock and pulled him back.

"You are a very lucky man. Thank the kind woman, not I. She spared your life." Instantly he did, and the woman rolled her eyes.

"Now get out here." Jaime threw him to the ground, and like lightening, the man bolted.

As he watched him flee, he said to his new companion, "Well, that went almost as planned." He looked at the whore, and for the first time, was close enough to see a speck of green in her eyes illuminate in the darkness. "You know, I could have handled it."

"Oh yes, that's exactly why you had a blade at your throat and a sword at your belly; just a part of your _master plan_."

He was taken aback by her mockery, not many women would be brave enough to act in such a manner. But Jaime liked it. "Clearly obvious."

She could not hold back her laughter, and Jaime flashed a handsome grin. He couldn't deny that the thought of the _rewards _she may provide him with tonight after this small affair crossed his mind. But for now, Jaime just wanted to relax.

With the immediate threat conquered, the ability to remain steady and appear sober faltered. He slightly stumbled, but the whore caught his arm and steadied him. "I think I owe my ragged champion a warm meal and a good drink."

Jaime let her lead him wherever she wished, "That sounds lovely."

* * *

For the most part, the duo traveled in silence. Jaime let her bring him further into town, but he was still cautious, for she was still a stranger. More and more lanterns lit their path and finally, Jaime could view the woman in her full glory.

Straight auburn locks reached the middle of her back. Her cream-colored skin was clean of the filth most peasants accumulated living in the pits of the city. He was correct about her eyes, they were a bright green and resembled precious jade. She had full lips that could make men think of raunchy fantasies. With great subtlety, Jaime appreciated her large breasts from a better view, and her rear received the same admiration. Truly, she was striking.

Jaime's memory kicked in when he was secretly appreciating her form. Her dress was torn in her scuffle, but this one was perfectly intact. "You changed." He said quietly.

"Pardon?" She could not interpret his vagueness.

"Your dress, it's different."

"Oh," she smiled, but looked down, "Strange that you noticed…"

"I'm rather observant." The woman looked up at him again, but bit the side of her plump, bottom lip, as if she were caught doing something wrong.

"I didn't want to look dodgy, and I knew I had time…" Jaime wasn't sure how to respond.

"So," he had to chuckle at her excuse, "you risked my life to get changed, because you did not want to look disheveled?" She could not look him in the eye; she was guilty. "No, I think the real reason was that you were going to leave me there to die, which would not have happened of course."

She let him go, and began to walk backwards, her face never leaving his. "You chose to risk your life, Ser. And I'll be sure to remind you that only the gods can judge the souls of men."

"And the souls of women?" he interjected. She could only grin brazenly at him. The whore turned back round the proper way and continued to lead him to the unknown destination. "Women." He muttered to himself. Even though he exposed her true intentions, he found himself still enjoying her company.

She did not bring him to the best section of King's Landing, but it was not the worst. A few pubs were still open, and she was headed for a popular Inn. He frequented "The Hearth," when he was younger, still a squire, but then it was called, "The Dragon's Hearth," named so in honor of the Targaryen's. Robert planned to have it burnt to the ground, but Baelish convinced him not to, since the Inn raised great revenue, and provided a large sum of tax money to the crown. But this was no place for the man he had now become.

"Follow me!" she called out to him.

Around them, men were drinking with barmaids and whores who flirted for tips. There was yelling and dancing, but she just walked past the frivolity unfazed, used to the commotion. A small scuffle did ensue in front of them, and one man rolled right in front of his companion. Instead of ignoring him like the others, she bent down and grabbed the man by his ear, causing him to yelp in pain as he rose up.

"Marcus Taryn! How many times must I tell you, no fighting in front of paying customers! You'll turn the mood sour." Jaime was shocked of how open she was about her private business.

"He started it!" the man had to be in his thirties, and Jaime just watched her berate him like a mother.

"You know better!" Marcus burped without warning, and she grimaced at the odor, "you smell as if you came straight from the Arbor itself. Go home before you do something stupid!" She pushed him away, and Jaime was entertained at how much control she had over him. He wandered off with no objection.

She looked back at Jaime, and offered him an explanation for her actions, "Marcus is a good man, a regular of mine, but has a bit of a problem when wine is at his disposal. "

She continued forward into the pub, and Jaime had to stop for a moment to digest his thoughts of this woman. 'Baelish's whores are proud, but none of them are peasants. They are protected employees. This woman is crazy.' But Jaime had to admit, that he saw no man grope her, and many greeted her as she passed by. A respected whore was unheard of.

'Who is she?'

Having noticed the delay, the woman turned around and looked at him expectantly. "Coming?"

Jaime smiled, and from the spot he stood, voiced his thoughts. "You know, I just met you in a dark alleyway. I have no idea who you are or even your name for that matter. As far as I know, you could be leading me into a trap or intend to drug me, and then take whatever I own from within my pockets. You may even have me beaten by these men who seem to respect you more than their wives. I would not be surprised since you almost left me to die."

The woman put her hands on her hips and tilted her head, signaling for him to continue, "How do I know I can trust you?"

Sultrily, she approached him. Her hips swayed, and a playful smile formed on her lips. When she was right in front of him, she lifted herself up onto her toes, and brought her lips to his ear. Softly, she whispered, "You can't. But if I wanted to kill you, or take your money, I could have done that long ago." She backed her head away, but stopped briefly to look into his pale, blue eyes.

Their proximity gave Jaime the strongest urge to claim this vixen for the night. The attraction was there, but he knew this game. She would not be in control, and he made a point of it by backing away from her, and walking towards the pub's entrance alone. He knew she would follow him, but before she did, she spoke with her back still to him.

"By the way," she turned to look at him, and again they caught each other's eyes, "my name is Helaine."

With a small smile and a nod, Jaime entered The Hearth and basked in his small victory. And as expected, she did follow him in.

* * *

**A/N: Almost 4000 words whaaaaaaaaaaaat! Haha! Ok so yeah, I'm already half way through writing Chapter 3 (Yeah I'm old school…I write my fics in a notebook and then type them), so an update will come soon! Next chapter will explain why this fic is really rated M! Are you excited? Because I'm excited! Stay tuned! **


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